


Stitches

by pyrrhical (anoyo)



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Established Relationship, Humor, Illya's POV, M/M, minor character injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 13:27:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9493448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anoyo/pseuds/pyrrhical
Summary: He checked the dial twice, just to make sure he was tuned into the correct channel.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sylvermyth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylvermyth/gifts).



> This is for Mel, who actually said the quote that leads off this fic. It just sounded so much like code when she said it, that I _had_ to. I just had to.

“I gotta do my homework when I get to work but I'm also gonna try to knit a pussyhat super quick because President Putz is gonna be in town tomorrow,” came over the transponder clearly.

Illya, who had been sitting and critiquing the manner in which Solo had been stitching up the knife wound to his side (“No, too many stitches, serrated knife needs to breathe”), looked up at the speaker on the transponder. He checked the dial twice, just to make sure he was tuned into the correct channel. 

After a few more moments of confusion, Illya finally asked, “What?”

Solo looked over at him from where he was tying off his stitches. “What, what?” he asked, attempting his best pleasant smile, but only managing to look like he was baring his teeth.

“That message,” Illya said, gesturing to the transponder. “Why did it come over our frequency?”

“Because it’s the code,” Solo said slowly, as though talking to a child. He tucked his shirt back into his pants and began rebuttoning his vest. 

Illya stared at him for a moment. “Why was I not told this?” he asked.

“I’m sure you were, Peril,” Solo said placatingly. “It’s been a long day. Easy enough to forget.”

“I do not forget,” Illya said, making a face.

Solo paused in wiping his hands on the towel he had found in a cupboard in the safe house, and smiled up at Illya. This one was a success. “Of course you do, Peril. Remember Gaby’s birthday last year?”

“I do not forget work,” Illya said, turning back to the transponder.

“Ah,” Solo said, moving to stand stiffly next to him. 

Illya stood in silence for a few moments, staring down at the transponder. Solo waited. Illya let out a small sigh when he asked, “What does it mean, Cowboy?”

“Gaby’s has the weapons, she found something she wasn’t expecting, and someone we hadn’t planned for showed up,” Solo said, reaching out for the transponder. He picked up the microphone and said into it, clearly, “Then we’ll see you at school,” and put it back. Solo turned to Illya and smiled again. “Now, we’ll meet her at the pick-up point at the arranged time.”

Illya nodded. He waited a few more moments before he turned around and marched across the small room that U.N.C.L.E. was calling a safe house. “Four hours before that. Get some rest.”

Solo laughed. “Of course.” Illya didn’t notice that Solo had followed him until he felt a hand on his hip, just before Solo said, “And you’re welcome.”

“You do not get praise for remembering,” Illya said, scowling.

“If you say so,” Solo said, leaning further into Illya’s space. 

Illya kept quiet, reaching down to unfold the blanket that was on the spare military cot, shoved into the corner of the room. He flipped the blanket open as he felt Solo lean forward again, then break off into a hiss.

“Ouch,” Solo said, dropping his forehead onto Illya’s neck.

Leaning a little into Solo’s hand, Illya said, “Told you too many stitches.”


End file.
